


'Beautiful.'

by TheZeroMoment



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, Genderfluid Sherlock, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Other, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZeroMoment/pseuds/TheZeroMoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a secret, and John doesn't really care about it. He can only see Sherlock as being mind-numbingly beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Beautiful.'

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy teenlock genderfluid fic that I've been meaning to publish forever.
> 
> I am not genderfluid. If I have completely gotten the idea of it wrong please tell me and I will change it <3
> 
> Enjoy the undiluted fluff <3

John was wandering home from another day at school and his after school rugby practice, currently shivering from the cold, helped only by the sodding mud in his boots and the rain dampening his hair even more than the sweat from overexertion. Ducking into a nearby bus shelter, he waited for the pouring rain to lessen before he had to go back out there.

 

He sneezed.

 

Great, Sherlock was going to slaughter him if he missed their date because he was sick... Well, he didn't know if meeting up to curl up on the couch and watch QI for a few hours with chinese takeaway going cold in polystyrene containers counted as a date but it sure as hell did to him. He pulled out his phone, which he only just heard beep over the crash of rain against the roof of the bus shelter.

 

If you are playing out in this rain I swear I will personally link your coach to the murders going on in Brighton. -SH

 

John grinned seeing the text from his boyfriend (he still couldn't get used to using that word), and typing out a reply with numb fingers.

 

Just walking home actually. Might be a bit late tonight, you do NOT want to see me all muddy. -JW

 

Don’t be so certain. -SH

 

He laughed aloud at the short reply. The rain was easing off slightly, enough for John to shove his phone in his bag, hold his bag over his head, and run the remaining half mile home before the next cloudburst.

 

*

 

He pulled his comfy red jumper over his head and ruffled his now-dry and clean hair, which was annoyingly fluffy but he couldn't do anything about that. He had used the aftershave, the one he knew Sherlock loved and once admitted (albeit while he was a little drunk) that the smell made him weak at the knees even though he had denied it the next day. He couldn't wait to see his boyfriend again.

 

"Going out! Be back soon!" He called before walking out into the crisp autumn afternoon and not worrying now that his sister was snoring on sofa already (despite the fact it was half four in the afternoon), too far gone to hear him, but that didn't dampen John's mood. The rain had finally lessened and he was as excitable as a puppy when he caught the bus to the stop just down the road from where Sherlock lived. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder bag and walked up the drive, a few butterflies buzz in his stomach but that happens every time he knows he has to come face to face with a member of Sherlock's family. It's the teenage boy in him he supposed.

 

He rang the doorbell and clasped his hands in front of him when it opens to reveal a smiling Mrs Holmes,

'John! Hello dear, I'll hazard a guess to say Sherlock invited you over, She's in her room.' She smiled and opened the door wider to let John walk in, smiling politely but confused.

 

...She?

You just misheard her, John convinces himself steadily and walks up the stairs to the familiar path to Sherlock's bedroom while Mrs Holmes totters back off into her study. You just misheard her.

 

'Sherlock?' He asks, knocking on the door. 'Can I come in?' He smiled cheekily despite knowing Sherlock couldn’t hear him and leant against the door frame a bit.

 

'J-John?' Sherlock's voice came through high and strained, panicked doesn't even begin to cover it.

 

'Sherlock?’ No reply. ‘Are you okay? I'm coming in alright?' He waited a few moments before he opened the door to see a very distressed looking Sherlock standing in the middle of the room with his hands around waist self consciously, wearing an oversized purple button-down and little shorts clinging to her bum.

 

Only it wasn't Sherlock.

She was, in all honesty, pretty much exactly how Sherlock normally looked, rosy cheeked and frail and lanky and gorgeous, but she was different. Well, she was a she for starters.

 

'Sherlock?' He asked cautiously, desperate to make sure this was actually real, and not some weird dream he was having while asleep, inhaling almost-toxic alcohol-and-various-other-things' fumes.

'Hi John.' She croaked out before fat tears streamed down her cheeks, smudging the tiny bit of black mascara she was wearing.

 

Oh god.

 

John flung his bag to the ground and closed the gap between them with a few steps and wrapping his arms around the taller girl, letting her rest her head against his shoulder, running his hands up and down her back in attempt to soothe her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

 

‘I-I didn’t-’ she pulled away, hiccupping. ‘I didn’t expect you to be here so quickly,’ John shushed her gently, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears collected under her eyes.

‘Listen Sherlock, I don’t mind, honestly. But when you feel up to it, I want to know what’s going on.’ He spoke in a clear voice, aware that Sherlock might be panicking a lot more than she was letting on.

 

‘I just-’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sometimes I feel like a boy, and sometimes I feel like a girl. I don’t know why, but today I felt like a girl.’ She sniffled. ‘I know it’s weird, I’ll go get changed...’ she stepped away from John, rubbing her eyes.

 

‘It’s fine you know, I said I didn’t mind and I mean it.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I think you look beautiful.’ He reached a hand out to Sherlock, palm up, like approaching an easily startled animal. ‘I always think you look beautiful, girl or boy.’

 

She looked at him, disbelieving yet hopeful, taking his hand, and stepping close once again. She kissed him once, very quickly on the lips, blushing bright pink.

‘Thanks, John.’ She smiled weakly.

 

They spent the rest of the evening curled up together in Sherlock’s bed, duvet wrapped around them, and watching pointless crap on iPlayer.

Sherlock had fallen asleep, nuzzling into John’s chest unconsciously. He sighed in content, he really couldn’t have wished for anything more.

 

 


End file.
